


there's a fire in his blood

by a_arc



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dalish Warden Commander, Darkspawn, Deep Roads, Post-Blight, bits and pieces, these aren't pretty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_arc/pseuds/a_arc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>and darkness in his heart</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Post-blight writings about Dalish Warden Commander Semrith Mahariel. mostly miscellaneous standalones, with a few (eventual) exceptions</p><p>Obviously these will venture into DA:II and eventually DA:I territory</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a fire in his blood

**Author's Note:**

> The taint is a corruption of the blood, it slowly eats away at a person until there is nothing left
> 
> The grey wardens have about 30 years, give or take, before they succumb. My headcanon is that as the Hero of Fereldan joined during a Blight, he's got a good bit less time.

The creature was blighted, _(warped, twisted)_ from the wolf it had once been.

Shaggy fur, black with the taint, hung in matted patches. Dark muscle and skin like slime gleamed in the faint light. Elongated claws clicked on the ground, leaving smudges of gore as it slunk forward on twisted legs.The quills protruding from its spine scraped and groaned as it moved.

Loose jaws hung in a dislocated grin. Tatters of pulsing flesh that might’ve once been a tongue dripped clotted slime as the creature wheezed and choked. Hawke felt himself draw back in horror as the creature’s head lolled his way. A mess of scabs and half formed quills _(they split the skin like an overripe fruit)_ covered its face. Tears of blood like ink rolled from rotted eye sockets.

Hawke felt bile rise in his throat.

He stepped back once more and startled when he was met with the clink of colliding armor. The Warden stood behind him, tainted blood dripped from his armor and painted his face. His teeth gleamed _(too sharp, not right)_ in the faint glow of the caravan’s torches.

The wolf wheezed, splattering black on the stone beneath them. A decayed eye popped free of a socket with a splash of yellow pus and dangled on threads of slime.

Hawke turned and retched, adding his own sick to the mess of shattered bone and the congealing sluice of blood and gooey muscle.

He felt the feather-light touch of the Warden's gauntlets on his shoulder as the elf laughed _(raspy, broken)_ and moved past him to meet the creature as it slunk towards them. Drakescale armor creaked as the Warden knelt, the soft corruption that crawled and grew over the stone soaking into his breeches.

Hawke wanted to look away, he wanted to run away, but there was nothing to look at besides oozing corruption and broken bodies and nowhere to go besides the dark. 

The warden stroked the creature's head, blister popping and spilling between his fingers. His smile grew softer  _(caring, gentle)_ and he whispered to the creature as it snarled and wheezed, running his fingers over its ruined ears. Hawke couldn't hear what the elf was saying.

He didn't want to.

The wolf snarled and splattered more black blood onto the Warden's face. It clung to his face in clots and rolled down his neck in thick droplets. The Warden flicked his tongue over his lips.

Hawke felt sick again and turned back to the carnage behind him. 

Armor creaked and claws scraped and squelched against the cave floor. Hawke turned to see the wolf vanish into the dark with a grace undeserved by a creature dripping flesh and muscle. The Warden stood, brushing off his knees like they were covered in dust, not chunks of corruption, muscle and organs. 

The elf's lips peeled back in a grin and an eyebrow perked above the cloth around his eyes.  _Coming?_  he seemed to say, the curve of his blood-crusted grin daring Hawke to say otherwise. Hawke thought he could still hear the scrape of the blight wolf's claws on the stone.

He glanced back, at the bloodied corpses, the corrupted stone and the darkness  _(thick, cloying, ever-present),_ and nodded. Hawke stepped forward and the Warden turned with a huff of approval _(rattling, wheezing)_ and stepped forward into the dark.

 

Hawke swore he saw a drop of inky blood slide from beneath the cloth that covered the Warden’s eyes.


End file.
